


Siege Sleepover

by Trifoliate_undergrowth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Elias sees property damage and loses his mind, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Jane Prentiss is mentioned, Jon and Martin have a sleepover!! WITH WORMS TERROR ANGST AND COSMIC HORROR! yaaaaaaaaaaaay, Tim Sasha and Elias are there briefly at the end, Worms, but like in a horror setting. but still fluff, pre-Jonmartin?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoliate_undergrowth/pseuds/Trifoliate_undergrowth
Summary: Jon falls asleep at his desk, which isn't unusual; but this is the first time it's happened since Jane Prentiss staked out the Institute. Staying overnight in the empty Archives with a hostile worm queen outside gives him a new perspective on Martin's experiences and forces him to address some biases.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Comments: 19
Kudos: 172





	Siege Sleepover

Jon woke up in the dark. This wasn’t unusual, he was a bit of a restless sleeper, and he could vaguely remember going to bed earlier than usual, which probably meant he wouldn’t sleep as soundly later on. He adjusted his position, pulling the blanket around him. The texture of it was unfamiliar, as was the smell—a combination of Martin and the Archives. It wasn’t bad, but the unexpectedness of it woke him up a little, and he fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. Instead of finding the table his hand slammed into a wall. He sat up, now noticing that the mattress felt wrong too, old and stiff with springs he could feel through the padding; and in a confused panic he lunged off the bed, scrabbling against the wall for a light switch that wasn’t there. His feet landed on something soft that made a yelping noise and rolled over. He stumbled, stubbed his toe on something that made a metallic noise, and crashed into the opposite wall.

A moment later, the light came on and Jon found himself blinking up at it from where he’d fallen in a pile on the floor. The fire extinguisher he’d bumped into rolled slowly across the floor before coming to rest near another which was standing by the bed. Martin had one hand on the light switch, the other rubbing his eye. He looked as startled and half-asleep as Jon felt.

“….good Lord,” Jon commented finally. “What time is—” he glanced at his watch and swore. It was after one in the morning.

Obviously, he’d never left the archives. He must have gotten so tired that he forgot Martin was using the spare room now—he could remember falling asleep at his desk, then waking up just long enough to stumble into the next room and lie down on the bed that used to be his. He hadn’t been awake enough to stop and think about the fact that it actually wasn’t his anymore. God. At least Martin hadn’t been _in_ the bed…

“Martin, why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked. Martin paused and took the hand away from his eye for a moment.

“I, uh. Well I tried. But you didn’t wake up, heh, and I thought, well, if you were _that_ tired—”

“You should have.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t see yourself. I was in here and you came in like half-asleep—actually I think you might have been sleepwalking, I tried to talk to you but you didn’t even notice, you just went over there and collapsed face-first onto the bed. Didn’t stop to take your shoes off or anything. It scared me actually, I thought you were dying until I heard you snoring.”

Jon laughed sharply. “Well. Sorry to worry you, I’ve been spending too much time on research lately and I hit my limit.” He paused, watching Martin carefully feel that one eye again. “…Did I step on you?”

“N—well—sort of. It was more of a kick. I’m alright, it just scared me. N-not the pleasantest way to be woken up.”

Jon opened his mouth and then closed it. “Ah. … Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Jon nodded, pushed himself up, straightened his shirt, and walked back into his office, lifting his coat from the hook. He heard Martin run out after him.

“Jon? Jon where are you going?”

“Home,” said Jon, heading for the door. He was halted by a heavy weight attaching to his arm. “Martin, let go.”

“You—it’s dark out! You said yourself you didn’t think any of us should leave after dark!”

“I’ll be fine.” He shook Martin off. Perhaps at another time he would have been more afraid of running into Jane Prentiss, but at the moment he just wanted to get out of the Archives, lay down in his own bed, and forget this embarrassing experience. He was shocked that he’d lost touch with reality that much. Perhaps he’d be able to give Martin a more coherent apology in the morning, when he’d had some time to himself to gather his thoughts.

“Jon, it’s the middle of the night, the streets will be empty and I _know_ she’s outside I can _hear_ her! Don’t go out there! Please!”

Jon paused. “You can hear her? Since when?”

“I-I told you that I hear things here sometimes at night. Through the walls. At least, I think that I do.”

“Hm, you did mention that.” Jon hated to admit it, but he was much more willing to listen to Martin’s concerns now that he himself was in the Archives at night. During the day it was easy to chalk it up to Martin’s imagination and forget about it, especially since Martin had been so self-effacing when he brought it up.

Still, his desire to get away was stronger than his fear of the darkness outside, and he prepared himself to walk to the door, wondering if Martin would try to stop him again. Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It was not Martin, but something small and silvery.

He grabbed Martin, who was still nearby, and yanked him to the side. The silver worm leapt from the wall and sailed across the space he’d just occupied, landing on the carpet with a faint wet thud. A moment later his foot came down on top of it with a distinctly louder thud. Jon took a moment to regain his balance, then lifted his foot to stare suspiciously at the smear on the bottom of his shoe. It was no longer worm-shaped, and was not moving.

“Got it.” He realized he was still gripping Martin and let go. “…I think I believe you about the jumping now.”

“Oh, you didn’t? I mean, fair, it sounded crazy. I-I thought it was crazy, in the moment, it scared me so much I dropped my phone, a-as I told you—”

“Yes. Well. You win, I’m not leaving tonight. I’ll find a couch that isn’t too deeply coated in dust.” He loved the Archives, he really did, but their standards for cleanliness were not the highest. He had a feeling the janitors didn’t like coming down here.

“Oh. Good. I… It might have been a dream, but I woke up a while ago and… I thought I could hear her singing, almost, right outside.”

Jon looked at Martin and realized for the first time how panicked he looked. Was he shaking?

He should say something, but all he could think of would only make the situation worse. Such as that if there was one worm there were probably more, and that it would be easy for them to sneak up on someone who was sleeping, and that it was clear the Archive was less airtight than he had hoped. None of that would help. He was bad at this.

After a moment of indecision, Jon raised his hand, intending to give Martin a brisk pat on the shoulder and then back away towards the Archives and find somewhere to sleep. It was hardly better than saying nothing, he knew it, but he was already committed, so—

Martin, obviously misinterpreting his movement, threw his arms around him.

Jon made a startled, squished noise, tensing up. Martin immediately backpedaled, apologizing. Jon, now running on autopilot, let his hand land on his shoulder.

“Um. No worries. Just, uh. Not… what I was going for,” Jon said.

“Right, right.”

Jon gave him an awkward pat and let go, internally screaming.

“A-anyway,” said Martin, “There’s a couch in the breakroom? I think it’s pretty clean, and soft, I’ve slept there before. Actually I can sleep there now. You take the bed. It was yours to begin with.”

“No,” said Jon.

“Al…alright. If you’re sure. But, um. Can—Do you want to go right to sleep or do you mind if I make some tea first? The stuff is in there.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Good, good. Do you want any? Sasha brought some chamomile, it’s uh, calming.”

“…Why not. Thank you.”

The situation seemed much better in the breakroom, with the lights on and the hiss of an electric kettle slowly heating up. Jon sat down on the couch. It was soft. He hadn’t been in here too much; when he was at the Archives he was usually focused on his work. …That, or passed out on his desk from _too much_ focus.

Martin, who had disappeared, came back with the blanket that Jon had found draped around him when he woke up. “Here, it’s a spare. Are those pillows good enough?”

“Yes. Thank you, Martin.”

Jon leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the quietly building hiss of the kettle. The worm had been a bad surprise, but perhaps it was the only one.

Then, very soft and distorted, a sound began to leak through the wall behind him. It rose and fell and he thought he could feel it wriggling between the bricks of the outer wall. It was something like a song, and might even have had words once, but there were none he could pick out through the distortion.

He opened his eyes and they met Martin’s. From his expression, Martin heard it too. It looked like he recognized it.

The sound grew stronger, and Jon’s skin prickled. Trying to move quietly, he shifted forwards, away from the singing wall, and stood, moving to stand closer to Martin.

There was nothing to see. Certainly nothing was coming through the wall, it was reassuringly solid, but the sound continued, muffled and rippled and strange. Martin stood absolutely still as if trying not to be noticed.

Jon remembered watching his grandmother’s cat play with a mouse, which would desperately pretend to be dead, hoping that the cruel animal with the teeth would lose interest and wander away. It had never worked.

The fear still tickling his spine blazed into anger, and Jon took a deep breath and shouted at his full volume.

“JANE!”

Martin flinched. The sound stopped. Jon listened for a few moments, heart pounding, but there was silence.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled. Martin touched his arm and he jumped.

“Are you alright?” asked Martin.

“Yes of course I’m alright! It’s only a sound what do you mean am I alright—” Jon paused, noticing how quickly and sharply he was speaking, and sighed. “…It caught me off guard, is all. I wasn’t… well. To be honest, I didn’t believe you at first, about the… singing.”

“Right, um, I can understand that. It’s good to know someone else can hear it, actually, a-and that I’m not, you know. Going crazy.” Martin chuckled, then turned and busied himself with tea-making preparations.

“Honestly I’m surprised you can sleep here,” said Jon, beginning to pace up and down the room. He stayed close to the internal wall. “How do you know the worms aren’t sneaking up on you while you sleep?”

“…I don’t. Uh, what kind of tea do you want?”

“You could already be infected.”

“I… I check myself for marks every morning. And I… tend to sleep very lightly since I’ve been here. Worm bites are supposed to feel like being stabbed right? I, I hope that would wake me up? Anyways, I get up every few hours and look around. Elias has mentioned the electricity bill actually, I couldn’t stand to turn the lights off some nights, I’m sorry about that, really, I j—” his voice broke and he stopped to take a deep breath.

Jon paused to look at him, then resumed pacing, even faster.

“You know some days I think I’m infected and I spend the whole day trying to work up the courage to tell you but then I manage to calm myself down and figure out I’m imagining it—the, the crawling and… you know… I check myself really well, I promise, I spend like, kind of a weird amount of time in front of the mirror actually, I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time staring at myself before—Jon, are you alright?”

Jon’s pacing had sped up until he was practically sprinting small circles in the corner of the room furthest from the outer wall. Martin stepped back to make room for him.

“Fine,” panted Jon. “Just… pacing.”

“Um. Right.”

After four more circuits, he stopped, breathing hard.

“…Better?” said Martin, tentatively.

Jon shrugged. “Is the water finished heating?”

“Oh! Yes. Perfect. You know, a nice cup of tea can fix a lot of things.” Jon snorted. “No, I’m serious. Two different times I was about to tell you I thought I might be infected but I stopped to have a cup of tea first and it calmed me down enough that I remembered how logic works and, you know, thought through it.”

“…That’s good.” Jon imagined a weeping Martin bursting into his office and shuddered. Even if he had turned out to be alright in the end, that sounded like a lot of trauma he was glad to have avoided. How was he to say Martin wasn’t infected? Jon probably would have believed him. And then, knowing Martin, when it turned out to be a false alarm he probably would have _wished_ he was dead.

Martin poured two cups of tea and leaned on the counter, waiting for them to steep. Jon watched the steam rise through the bright air in serene wisps. 

“…Martin.”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you stopped me from leaving, I don’t know what I was thinking. Must have been half-asleep still.”

“Yeah, uh, I know how that is, no problem. I’m… I’m glad you’re still alive, ha.”

“Mm.”

A few minutes passed.

“Do you, uh. Do you want sugar, or…”

“I can fix my own tea, Martin.”

“Right, right, just asking uh, if there was anything I could get while I was up—I’ll just—I take cream, uh, there’s more here if you want any.”

“Thank you.” There was a long silence except for the reassuringly normal sounds of tea preparation. “…Think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?” asked Jon, and Martin laughed.

“Ah, well, um. Heh. A bit? I sort of drift in and out of consciousness these days?”

“Doesn’t sound very restful.”

“Right, mr. eyebags, I’ll definitely accept critique from you.”

“Shut up,” said Jon mildly, and sipped his tea.

“What about you?” said Martin, and Jon replied before he could even finish,

“Not a chance. I’m staying awake until I see the sun come up.”

“Ah. You’re, uh, going to regret that tomorrow; speaking from personal experience, unless you decide to take the day off—”

“No. Too much to do.”

“One of these days we’re going to find you dead at your desk, Jon. Get more sleep.”

Jon finished his tea with a dismissive gulp.

Martin sighed. “Right. ….Actually, I have an idea.”

“Yes?”

“Since you’re not going to sleep, and I’m… probably not going to sleep much, uh. We could take it in shifts? I figure the person sleeping will sleep better knowing there’s someone keeping an eye out for worms, and that way we can both get a few hours in at least.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Jon, his voice not betraying the amount of relief he felt. He really didn’t want to be alone. How could Martin stand it? Martin obviously felt better about the idea too, he sighed and relaxed a little.

“Right. So what do you think, stay here or—?”

“Here is fine with me. The watcher can get a snack without leaving the room if necessary. And you already brought a blanket.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Uh, I’ll take first watch? Don’t argue, I saw you pass out right in front of me.”

Jon grunted and checked his watch.

“Mm. Two hours?”

“Three is fine.”

“Right, so you’ll get all the creepy, dark hours and I just have to wait for the others to show up in the morning. Two is enough, I can nap later.” He set an alarm on his watch, kicked off his shoes and rolled himself up in the blanket on the couch. “Thank you, Martin.”

“You’re welcome. See you in a couple hours. Do you want the lights off or—”

“ _No_.”

“Good. Me neither. …Wait, uh, that reminds me. Should we….”

“I’m not getting up to turn off the lights we turned on in the hallway.”

“I’ll do it—”

“No, going out alone defeats the entire purpose of what we’re doing. Don’t worry about it.”

“But Elias—”

“Elias can go to worm hell. Goodnight Martin.” Martin laughed softly and said something he couldn’t quite catch. “What was that?”

“I said goodnight, Jon.” He sounded relieved. Jon was starting to understand. Just the thought of walking through the darkened Institute, turning out all the lights behind him… No. He nestled deeper into Martin’s blanket and willed himself to fall asleep quickly, aware that the timer was running.

Some time later the chirp of his alarm needled into the warm haze of sleep and he groaned, shutting it off with his eyes closed. He felt rough. Two hours wasn’t enough. But Martin was going to get even less if he went back to sleep so he forced his eyes open and sat up. Martin was watching him sleepily from a chair he’d pulled out to face the door. He’d been watching for worms. Of course that had been the plan, but it made Jon smile to see him so serious about it. He’d been very safe.

“Alright. Your turn. Couch is already warm.”

They traded places, and Jon gave the room a quick, paranoid check to be sure there weren’t any worms in the corners before settling into the chair to watch the door. He glanced down at his watch to judge how long he had before the sun came up.

It was six in the morning already.

He jumped up and flung the door open. He could see sunlight through the windows at the end of the hallway.

“Jon?” said Martin sleepily from the couch.

Jon closed the door and turned to glare at him.

“You _menace_. You reset my alarm.”

“Aw, you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. You gave me four hours and we agreed on two.”

“I didn’t agree to anything. Goodnight, Jon.”

“Good _morning_ , Martin. I’ll never trust you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jon sighed, but decided not to say anything else, as it was imperative that Martin get to sleep quickly if he was going to get any rest this morning. And sure enough, he was asleep within minutes, breathing contentedly, the occasional soft snore tugging at his throat.

Jon sat wondering if he had snored, as Georgie said he sometimes did, and if so, how Martin had been able to endure four hours of hearing nothing else. At least Martin’s snores weren’t terribly offensive. They sounded more like a loud sigh that got stuck.

He looked completely different when he was asleep. There was something bright about him when he was awake—asleep, he looked limp and loose and dull, and Jon wondered suddenly if this is what he would have looked like if Prentiss had got him, if they’d found him lying dead in his apartment—this, but with more worms, of course… thank goodness he’d had the sense to bunker down and wait.

Jon should have noticed. He should have checked on him. But he’d underestimated Martin enough that when he disappeared Jon had just shrugged it off as “typical”, which, if he’d stopped to look past his biases and _think_ , was not at all correct. Martin may have been habitually, if not seriously, late and have _very_ loose ideas about what constituted appropriate professional clothing, but he did put in a good effort while he was there and Jon had never known him to go off on vacation without giving him fair warning—something, now that he actually thought about it, that both Tim and Sasha had done to him on separate occasions. Tim once told him as they were leaving the Institute that he wouldn’t be in the next day and Jon, who’d been planning on asking him to commit forgery and possibly seduce a police officer, was stuck having to come up with alternative methods of research. Sasha was a bit better. Martin…. Might have actually been the most professional out of the three, as far as absences went. He really should have suspected something was up when he disappeared for almost two weeks. Really should have.

He reminded himself that he was supposed to be watching the door. It felt less urgent now that the sun was up and Jane Prentiss had likely stopped her prowling around the Institute to hide somewhere out of sight, but Martin had done as much for him. And you never knew when a worm might appear. Perhaps one had wriggled in during the night and was even now squirming down the hall towards them.

Jon opened the door to check, but the hall seemed perfectly empty, aside from shadows. He closed it as quietly as he could and sat back down to wait.

It was very dull. He wanted tea but the kettle made noise and he didn’t want to wake up Martin. He was wavering between whether or not to risk it when he heard the front door creak open.

Ah, Elias was early, as usual. It was reassuring to know that they weren’t the only ones in the Institute.

He heard the jingle of keys being put away, and tap of footsteps approaching. They slowed and stopped near the door of the breakroom.

“…Jon?”

Jon didn’t answer, not wanting to wake up Martin, but got up and opened the door. He got a shock when he did, as Elias was already looking right at him; maybe he’d heard him moving? Jon pointed over his shoulder and made a hushing sound, then joined Elias in the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“You’re in early today,” commented Elias, fixing him with those cold, piercing green eyes.

“As are you,” said Jon. Elias chuckled.

“Have these lights been on all night?”

“…Yes. Couldn’t bear asking Martin to turn them off. We both spent the night after I fell asleep at my desk.”

“Hm. I’d prefer if you didn’t encourage him, I’ve already had to talk to him about it once.”

“Yes, well, he mentioned that. Maybe _you_ should try spending the night alone in here while a walking worm hive scratches at the walls.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, and Jon realized too late that he’d raised his voice. Not that he was above shouting at Elias, but he’d forgotten that he was trying not to wake up Martin. There was a door between them, hopefully the sound hadn’t reached him.

“Oh, did you have a bit of a scare?”

“More than a bit, if I’m being honest. Another worm got in, and this one jumped at me—and I thought Martin was at least exaggerating about the jumping, you said yourself you didn’t believe it, but this one _really_ jumped, it—well, it changed my opinions on a few things, fast. That and hearing Prentiss outside.”

“Are you sure it was Prentiss?”

“I… Huh. Well next time I’ll just pop outside and ask if she’ll pose for a picture—”

“Don’t. I’m joking, Jon, of course I believe you, but please, we don’t have unlimited funding. Maybe you could get him a nightlight? That will take up less electricity than leaving all the big lights on.”

Jon imagined Martin crouching in the weak pool of light from a tiny bulb, waiting for worms to appear out of the darkness, and something twisted in his chest.

“Well, if you’d like to buy a nightlight, go ahead; what design do you think would match the décor? Dora the Explorer or Spiderman? But I’m not going to tell him not to leave the lights on, it would be hypocritical of me after last night.”

“Afraid of the dark, Archivist?”

“Maybe so.”

“Well. Take a nap, it sounds like you need it. I tell you what, just remind Martin that I’m worried about the bills and I won’t talk to him again.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Jon looked back into the breakroom. He thought Martin had shifted into a different position, but he seemed to still be asleep, so he closed the door very, very slowly, which didn’t entirely keep it from creaking. He swore at it in whispers, then returned to his chair.

By the time Tim showed up Jon had finally cracked and started boiling water, thinking that he should probably wake Martin up soon anyway. Tim came in, distracted by something on his phone, and was halfway through opening a bag of cookies ( _very_ loudly) before he noticed there were other people in the room.

“Oh, hello Jon! Making some tea?” Jon made a shushing noise. “What’s that?”

“Martin’s sleeping.”

“HUH? COULDN’T HEAR YOU WHAT”

_“ISAIDBEQUIETMARTINISSLEEPING”_

“OH! Ohhhhhh. Don’t you want to wake him up?”

“Hm, I’ll give him a little while. He’s tired.”

“How would you know? It’s nine in the morning, if he still hasn’t slept enough that’s his fault.”

“No, not really, I kept him up.” Tim whipped around to face him with an expression that Jon couldn’t quite parse. “….what?”

The expression slowly morphed into a crafty grin. Tim nodded and made a show of zipping his lips shut.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re—T- _Tim!_ No. _No_. I just—listen, I fell asleep at my desk, and when I woke up I heard Prentiss outside—”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, I know, I wasn’t sure I believed him either, but she was there, and I got too scared to leave, and Martin offered to stay awake and watch for worms while I slept. We were going to split up the time but he let me sleep for four hours because he’s an idiot, so now he’s unconscious at nine in the morning, and I don’t have the heart to wake him.”

“Huh. Well, I mean, that does sound more in character for you.”

“I’m… not sure how to take that.”

Tim patted him on the shoulder and left, taking the cookies with him. After a moment he poked his head back into the room.

“Hey, does this mean I should stop pranking him?”

“What?”

“You know, with the little rubber worms I got. Been leaving them on his desk and stuff, it’s hilarious.”

“ _No_. Do not do that,” said Jon with quiet rage.

“Okay, geez, wow. You thought it was funny at first.”

“I did?”

“Yeah! You laughed, I definitely remember you laughed.”

“Huh. Well… don’t do it anymore, Tim.”

“Alright. Pity, I went to the trouble of painting them silver and everything. But it does seem a bit too mean if there are real worms around.”

Martin woke up shortly afterward, apologized for sleeping in, asked why Jon hadn’t woken him sooner and ate two cups of instant noodles. Jon, reassured that things were back to normal, picked up his tea, opened the door and found Sasha in the hallway, and a silver worm on the wall right beside her. Ignoring her greeting, he lunged past her and squashed it with the side of his mug, splashing tea across the wall.

“Oh, _God_. Elias is going to skin me,” he said, watching the stain trickle down the wall.

“Jon?! Are you alright?” asked Sasha.

“Worm,” said Jon, showing her the squashed worm remains on the side of his mug before carrying it to the sink.

“I mean… yeah, they’re not that dangerous, usually. Why are you so jumpy?”

“Who said they’re not dangerous? You know what Prentiss is.”

“…and this is definitely her?”

“Definitely, yes,” and for the third time Jon found himself explaining how he’d spent the night in the Archives, “So don’t let your guard down, alright? They might look harmless, but they’re not.”

“Wow. Okay, I’ll be more careful. Didn’t think they seemed like that much of an issue, honestly.”

Later, as Jon was checking a source in the Archives, he overhead Sasha asking if Martin had any food requests. Apparently she’d decided to start bringing lunch back to the Archives and had offered to get something for him as well. Martin sounded overjoyed at the prospect of eating something that wasn’t instant noodles. Jon found himself wondering who had been helping Martin get enough food; it certainly hadn’t been him. Did they have any oranges? He wasn’t going to get scurvy, was he? How long did it take to get scurvy? He was going to buy oranges.

A few hours later, Martin went into the hallway to find Elias standing in front of the stain on the wall, staring at it as if he could will it out of existence by the force of his disapproval alone. He was still there when Martin had returned from the Archives with a reference book. He surreptitiously tipped off Sasha and Tim, who both invented excuses to walk down the hallway.

“He’s gonna snap,” whispered Tim when he’d come back. His shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “Oh, this is great.”

“No it’s not,” said Martin.

They heard Elias cross to Jon’s office and open the door, rather abruptly.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“There is a stain—”

“It was me.”

“What.”

“If you look under the stain you’ll notice bits of worm on the—”

“What I _notice_ under the _stain_ , Jon, is _a significantly sized dent in the drywall_.”

“Ah.”

At this point Tim went into a laughing fit that he couldn’t control and Sasha got up to shut the door. Martin invented a question for Jon so he could check on him a bit later, just to make sure he was still alive. He looked alright, if a bit haggard.

“Get enough sleep?” Jon asked, and Martin smiled.

“Oh, yeah, I feel great. Everyone’s being really nice to me, actually. What did you do?”

“Nothing. While you’re up, would you pass me that book?”

Martin didn’t argue, but _nothing_ was a lie. He’d been awake for all three conversations.

**Author's Note:**

> Knowing later spoilers about Elias makes the stain scene even funnier because it’s likely that he already knows exactly what happened but is so peeved that he’s just bluescreening on how on earth to proceed  
> Elias internal monologue voice: "Do not kill your Archivist, do not kill your Archivist, do not kill your Archivist you need him Alive" 
> 
> I can’t remember if the worms were actually getting into the Institute before the finale happened or if they only showed up outside? But in this world the occasional one does get through the cracks, theory courtesy of someone who grew up in an old house that’s always got bugs in it. 
> 
> Anyways pacing is a stim for me and I headcanon Jon as falling somewhere on the autism spectrum so take that or leave it I guess


End file.
